September 04, 2013

(A version of this article was published in Blogcritics, Politics section, on June 11, 2013)

Can there be such a thing as a comprehensive revolutionary theory, a universal theory of revolutions that would be good for all times and for all seasons? Or, alternatively, have we reached a theoretical impasse of sorts, a glass ceiling in a manner of speaking, a kind of situation in which strategy and tactics are the only available resources, effective under some circumstances but not under others? Can we find a common enough denominator that would apply to and circumscribe all forms of human struggle against any kind of domination or oppression, be it economic or racist, against colonialism or neoliberalism, by the peasant or the indigenous folk, the truly disenfranchised and the dispossessed, or by the "sophisticated" denizens of the first world who, unlike the former, don't seems to experience oppression firsthand but only indirectly, not in any crude or physically debilitating manner but subtly, as if by proxy? Can humans unite under a common banner, humans from all walks of life, against all forms of oppression, a condition which seems to be the defining characteristic of the species and its checkered history and future? Is there hope for humankind?

In a sense, to be asking this question is analogous to asking whether there can be such a thing as a perfect chess game, a winning strategy against every conceivable opponent, or whether chess games are won (or lost) by gearing your game to the person sitting across the board from you, to their strengths and weaknesses, their moments of brilliance as well as their blind spots, their entire personality, and what have you. If you're an aesthete, you're more than likely to opt for the first alternative; but if winning is what concerns you the most, then the second-mentioned option is probably your best bet.

Offhand, we can think of two distinct, albeit related, factors which seem to mitigate against a unified theory of human struggle: first, the apparent lack of common language, the language of "common experience"; and second, the differential stages of different peoples' progress toward self-empowerment, which render their struggles incomparable since they may well be against different opponents, which, in turn, implies a different set of objectives. The first I consider as fundamental, the crux of the matter, and I shall take it up in the next article in this series; the second, as circumstantial. Both obstacles can be overcome.

Submitting what we know to the criticism of the "wretched of the earth," accepting that they have other knowledge that is not less or more valid that ours, [pre]supposes a double exercise: that of humility and that of commitment. Humility to accept the limitations of our world and knowledge in order to be disposed to learn from the others when they are common people of color of the earth.

Commitment because that knowledge is not available in the lustrous salons of academia, nor in the armchairs of institutions. Assimilating that knowledge requires sharing the pains and the fiestas, the walks and the celebrations of those below us, in their territories and in the measure of their time. Since remote times we have called this attitude militancy (free translation from Spanish by Marthe Raymond).

The cited passage reverberates with salient themes from both Frantz Fanon and Michel Foucault. From Foucault, because of the very idea behind the genealogy of all knowledges, a project aimed at leveling the playing field: insofar as the power/knowledge equivalence is concerned, there is no distinction to be made between "disciplinary knowledge," the kind of knowledge taught in academia, and "insurrectionary knowledge," knowledge which defies it. And from Fanon, because of the singular focus on what was (and in some parts of the world still is) an unmistakably anti-colonial struggle.

By way of illustrating the extent to which the fate of anti-colonial struggles all over the world appears to fall on deaf ears, I refer the reader to the general drift of comments dedicated to this article, the second in the series. Aside perhaps from acknowledging the simple fact that we may be dealing here with situations and scenarios that don't exactly coincide with the Western idea of the revolutionary agenda, I haven't seen much of an effort on the part of the respondents to sympathize with the plight of the oppressed peoples the world over, let alone try to understand the exact ways in which their situation might differ from our own. The best one could say is that most of the respondents were rather noncommittal; the worst, that they exhibited a characteristic lack of indifference or unconcern. What's particularly disturbing is that we're talking about some of the most severe and highly articulate critics of capitalism and the decadent West. In a sense, therefore, this article is limited in what it aims to accomplish: it's to convince my comrades-in-arms of the error of their ways. Only then can we move forward.

But seriously now, what are the standard objections? And to what? To socialism in general or to the Bolivarian Revolution in particular? I suppose we may go along to a point with the first-mentioned disclaimer: for indeed, socialism had proven time and again to fall short of the mark when it comes to realizing that utopian, enlightened state of being on both the individual and the societal levels. And as far as I know, all astute thinkers and critics of East and West, North and South, all thinkers of anarchistic or post-anarchistic persuasion, are acutely aware of the dangers of statism, the inevitable byproduct of both socialism and capitalism alike. In the final analysis, the only difference between the two equally authoritarian systems comes down to substituting one master for another, the factory owner, loosely speaking, for the apparatchik, a state-sanctioned bureaucrat. So this cannot be the whole explanation, not insofar as the Bolivarian Revolution is concerned, not insofar as the object is to delineate a significant difference of opinion with respect to it between otherwise like-minded, right-thinking people, between people of the same ideological persuasion. There's got to be something else lurking in the background, something that escapes ordinary vision.

What is being lost in the translation, I propose, is the status of those struggles: we tend to view them as "post-colonial" whereas nothing could be further from the truth. It's for that reason and that reason alone that we're apt to respond to said struggles, or to whatever they've managed to accomplish, as though they pose some kind of threat to our cherished ideological position; which would also explain why we tend to remain noncommittal with respect to them, indifferent as the case may be or, to put it mildly, unsympathetic. But truly, even though the peoples in question, say the peoples that comprise the bulk of South America, may have attained a post-colonial status de facto, even though they may have won their political independence from the colonial powers of yesteryears, they're still beholden to the ole colonial ways and habits of thought; in spite of their independence, they're still under the colonial yoke in both body and spirit. It is this little factoid that the ever-discerning Western eye fails to take into account. That's not surprising, perhaps, because it is the West that's been the chief architect and beneficiary of colonization as the means to its own self-enrichment, and that continues "to proceed colonially in South America [and wherever it can] – refusing to transfer technology, continuing to rip off resources," et cetera et cetera.

But must we look any further than our own history to become painfully aware of the fact that a sense of national or ethnic identity doesn't accrue to a people overnight but only as a result of a slow and arduous process? And no, I don't mean here the rather unique "(North) American experiment" built on the backs of native populations and cemented by the institution of slavery, a sorry narrative of how the West and a nation were won, forging thus what was soon to become an (American) identity about to be appropriated by the rightful conquerors of the New World, for that's a chapter all unto itself; a cursory look at the European theater alone ought to suffice. And here, isn't the unification of Germany, or of Italy, for that matter, both relative newcomers to the European family of nations, a prime example?

Interestingly, both countries experimented with an unabashedly fascistic form of government. Both were belligerent to an extreme. Some historians, as a matter of fact, trace Germany's remarkably bellicose stance at the turn of the 19th century and onwards to no other factor than her, relatively speaking, late birth as a nation. Which again isn't to say that a rabid, unmitigated sense of national or ethnic identity is an ingredient we would want to cultivate if the object is total emancipation of humankind from the things that divide us – skin color, ethnic or national origin, or gender. Sooner or later, we must shed all of those things if we're ever to attain an enlightened state of being. But surely, and here comes the rejoinder, there are also times when nothing short of (re-)constructing a strong sense of national or ethnic identity, out of ashes, will do in order to reconstruct the long-shattered and fragile egos – of persons, groups of persons, of entire communities, in fact. Again, this may not be the ultimate solution, but it's surely a remedial one!

"One must crawl before one can walk," or so we say, and it surely applies to the situation at hand. The underlying analogy, the comparing of the birth of a nation, its characteristic aches and pains, to that of a growing individual, through childhood, adolescence and full age, may be stretched, perhaps too stretched for comfort. Even so, it's a useful metaphor as far as it goes: the vagaries of a nation-state, especially at the early stages of its inception, are not all that different from the travails of an adolescent trying to come of age. And whatever one or the other may do by way of reaching their final destination, it can be thought of as a prop, a stepping stone, as something to be discarded and done away with once it is no longer needed. Now, add to these considerations the fact that in addition to the economic rationale behind colonial domination, there had always lurked a racist element, an element which aimed at emaciating the entire people so as to make it indolent and malleable to the master's will, and you can readily imagine why the collective psyche of the colonized may have been damaged to the point of requiring the most radical kind of repair.

So if there is a moral to this modest article, let it be that no size fits all; and that there may be times when wars of liberation, liberation from the corrupt influence of the decadent West and its imperialistic outreach, may have to precede wars on behalf of a classless society. It's a matter of timing! And yet for some unfathomable reason, we tend to overlook this simple fact and hold each and every one up to the same Western standard: if it's not in accord with our way of doing things, then it's unlikely to succeed.

In any event, there appears to be a double standard at work here. For example, I don't exactly recall anyone pooh-poohing the French Revolution even though the French Republic, such as we know it today, had become just another liberal democracy, a fine sounding name for a political system which, at bottom, only justifies the workings of capitalism in terms of neoliberal ideas. Likewise, there wasn't much of a vocal opposition to the goals of the IRA in its struggle to win Irish independence from Britain, except perhaps for some of its methods. Even the Arab Spring, once it became evident that momentous changes were afoot, received reluctant support from our State Department, so long, of course, as the new governments would be "democratic" and anti-socialist.

Contrast this now with our gut reaction to such events as the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917, the Cuban Revolution of 1959, or South America's struggle, still unfolding, to free itself from West-imposed dictators and ruling classes ever-ready to do their masters' bidding, and the conclusion is inescapable. Capitalism is all that matters. And it doesn't make one iota of a difference, insofar as the West is concerned, how it is maintained, whether by a strongman or a parliamentary system which approximates the workings of a liberal democracy, so long of course as it is maintained. Everything else is fluff, a pretext, nothing but window dressing.

August 15, 2009

(A version of this article was published first in Blogcritics, Politics section)

The 2008 presidential election was won on the "hope & change" slogan, and thus far the prediction has been half-right.

I can't address the hope aspect because one person's hope may be another's nightmare, but change it definitely has been and its consequences (intended or unintended) are far from clear or assessable at this early stage. What is abundantly clear, however, we're at the crossroads. And how we act in the present, the kind of decisions we make, will affect our common future and that of the world at large.

It's refreshing to see that some of us are recognizing the momentous times in which we live and have made it a point to address this and no other issue. I happen to think it's more beneficial in our troubled times than addressing the pros and cons of this particular piece of legislation or that, the details of it all, be it health care or the stimulus package or cash-for-clunkers.

Kudos to Charles Euchay and Philip F. Harris for their timely articles: may you start a precedent. In particular, I take comfort from the closing lines of Mr. Harris's well-balanced piece:

Our nation and our planet is [sic] at the edge. The decisions we make now will determine if we rise or fall. The real issue is not have we passed programs in 200 days, it is that we are trying to solve the issues and not hide them in some CIA vault. The remaining problem is that we cannot talk about solutions forever. Decisions must be made now. We know that the ways of the past were a failure. Politicians from both sides of the aisle must now come together and decide. If Obama fails, we all fail!

In that spirit, therefore, let me pick up the baton and carry the discussion through its third leg. What I wish to address are certain systemic changes, changes which I deem necessary if we are to survive as a nation, let alone the presumptive leader of the world. It's a three-prong approach, political, economic and moral, and reforms in each of these areas are long overdue.

I'll restrict my politics-related comments to two issues: campaign finance reform and term limits. It's high time to break up the Washington crowd so as to free it from all suspicion of being beholden to private interests. The sphere of political decision-making must be made distinct from economic decisions because it's a higher call. At the very least, the former mustn't be tainted.

Limiting House and Senate seats to one term only, two at most, would go a long way toward that end. You can hear the usual objections: "It takes time to become an expert and a member of an important committee, blah, blah, blah." Utter nonsense! It's not expertise that's needed in Washington, D.C. but better judgment; and you can't learn that by putting in your time. We don't want technocrats in charge of our nation's future but ordinary women and men – representatives of The People.

Campaign finance reform is the other side of the coin. Setting caps on the candidates' spending in their election or re-election efforts — the same for everyone, without exception — is an integral part of the healing process, reinstating faith in our politicians. The networks and cable channels should do their bit in providing equal time to candidates running for office, pro bono, as part of public service. All media, in fact, aside from being privately-owned, commercial enterprises, must be made to discharge their duty — to inform the public. They must be made aware that with the privilege of an FCC license there comes a responsibility.

On the economic front, we've got to break away from the adversarial model — of (big) business versus the government – which for too long has dominated our thinking. By definition, such a model can only lead to virulent opposition between the two entities or to collusion. Neither alternative is acceptable. It's far better to use the carrot approach, incentives and tax credits, to accomplish the desired results – which means a more cooperative model of negotiating the differences.

As part of the program, we should encourage all manner of cooperative ventures — as between the employers and the employees, or the owners and the consumers — after the fashion of supermarket cooperatives in the seventies or credit unions. There is plenty of room for experimentation, of populating our stagnated business model with hybrid entities, and the government should take the lead in encouraging the formation of all such. Far too much attention has been given to the multinationals. It's small and mid-size businesses which are the mainstay of our economy, the largest employer in fact, and they should be encouraged. It's mainly from this quarter, small to mid-size firms, that all the creativity and innovation come from. Let's never forget it.

Along the moral dimension, I've already spoken of "the moral equivalence and worthiness of persons," of the theory of (human) rights which is quickly becoming the focus of modern political theory and the basis of all right-headed, ethical thinking. At present, it's limited to nation-states, resulting thus in re-inventing the good old concept of "the public good": and the present healthcare proposal, regardless of its intended or unintended consequences, is a case in point. But soon, mark my words, this torch will spread beyond its present boundaries, to include the world at large. And so will the concept of the public good, to encompass every creature large or small, all part of the same global village. It's only a matter of time.

Will this lead to a realignment of political realities and shifting allegiances, to making strange bedfellows and altering the composition within the existing power structures? You bet! The human rights concept, and the corresponding notion of universal justice, are too comprehensive to be contained by the boundaries of a nation-state, any nation state, for any such application is bound to be constricting for being parochial: the whole world, all peoples and nation-states, each and every individual are the proper stage.

So yes, the days of the United States as a sovereign nation are limited – if not in this generation then the next. We've grown too big for our breeches to contain an idea that's going to drive our future and shape the world to come until it reaches a new equilibrium point under brand-new configuration.

Yes, I am talking about the New World Order, a confederation of nation-states, a "brave new world," some have called it, and with great misgivings, I might add. Well, it's bound to be better than the present, characterized by misguided national loyalties and internal squabbles, the pettiness of it all. We're capable of better future and it shall be ours — with America's help of without. Probably without, or in spite of her, I should say, because her people are the greatest obstacle, or so it seems, to human progress. Ultimately, it won't matter because America won't matter.

On what do I base these predictions? Simply the fact that we're undergoing the greatest populist revolution in this country's history. Obama has been "the peoples' choice," no ifs, ands, or buts about it. And what has been the reaction? He's been fought tooth and nail on practically every single issue. On each and every program, every legislative proposal, he's been declared dead-wrong. There is nothing in fact the fellow can do what is right, not even in his sleep. I'll be the first to say that yes, much of what had transpired in the first two hundred days of the new administration can be criticized, but come on . . .

Again, the present controversy concerning health care, the House version, is a case in point. Without getting into the nitty-gritty, the disruptive atmosphere pervading nearly every town-hall meeting devoted to clarifying and discussing the issue, despite the lack of preparation on the part of the congresspersons who are supposed to know better, I have but one comment to make: it's been a disgrace.

I know that some have and will call it the reigniting of the American spirit, the radicalization of the silent majority, the reawakening on the part of the forgotten white male, once so prominent in laying America's foundation and now, all so neglected and made dispensable, the call for freedom and liberty on the part of Everyman.And they'll regard it as the greatest happening since the War of Independence — so sweet the sound.

Well, I have a different take. Once more, we're seeing the great unwashed masses — white trash, if you ask me — subjected to politics of fear. Indeed, it's no different than, when under the auspices of "The War on Terror," most Americans have been more than willing to give up some of their rights under the Patriot Act. This time, however, it's the government that represents the greatest menace by way of "death-panels," rationing healthcare, and whatnot. And in the name of what? Insuring those who, by reason of personal circumstance or the vagaries of the private insurance market, have been left in the cold? Of possibly reducing the overall medical costs when the uninsured check in the emergency rooms and, while not denied treatment, contribute more than heftily to everyone's insurance costs?

Yet the propaganda continues, and it falls on the receptive ears of our seniors, old farts who have no sympathy for anyone but themselves, a privileged class which has never experienced a setback while America was still believable and going strong, the old and dying remnant which knows nothing of solidarity or class-consciousness, of the common lot uniting all peoples of every color, creed and ethnic background, be they Americans or of any other origin. And why? Because they never had to! And so, their only concern is their own entitlements, screw everybody else.

What a sorry state of affairs to be concerned only with number one? What a legacy for a nation that bills itself as the land of the free and the brave? You want my honest opinion? We don't deserve to survive. And we won't if this continues. What we're seeing is a nation disintegrating before our very eyes, falling apart at the seams, while its people think nothing of it. The public good is the furthest thing from their mind. The spirit is gone, the spirit of humanity and common destiny that awaits not just Americans but all men, the sense of human decency and all the values which make us thinking, sentient beings.

I'm ashamed to be an American. For fifty years, I had a love affair with this country, a passionate love affair. For all her faults, I kept on believing in her for she represented a promise, a bright future never realized before, the hope of humankind. No longer! This is the last draw. I have nothing in common with these people. They're not my people anymore and it's no longer my country. All allegiances are broken.

Bye-bye, Miss American Pie. You had your chance, your golden opportunity, but you squandered it. The world will go on, with you or without you, and so will humanity's march toward a better tomorrow. You're history.

July 13, 2009

(A version is this article has been published in Blogcritics, Politics section)

When I opened this series, I spoke of state of conflict and widespread enmity that are liable to exist in, if not define, the condition commonly referred to as "state of nature" when life, by all reasonable accounts, is "solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short," because individuals living in such a state have to fend for themselves – there being no such thing as the formal apparatus of the state to protect them from one another and offer agreed-upon procedures for conflict-resolution should the need arise.

In Part II, I argued that in spite of what's regarded as natural transition from state-of-nature – admittedly, a philosophical construct whose sole purpose is to enable us to think about the essential characteristics of a (minimal) state – to that of a "civil society" and a full-fledged political community, that state of conflict doesn't really disappear. True, it's ameliorated somewhat by the aforementioned, hypothetical transition, made less pronounced and biting by the very fact that now there is a state to serve as a buffer – or an intermediary, if you like – to intervene as occasions arise in order to prevent a full-scale eruption of an all-out hostility as individuals would be liable otherwise to take matters into their own hands. But however subdued or stripped of its potential to create total havoc, there's no denying that even in "civil societies," conflict is the natural order of things – if only to preserve the status quo and safeguard the interests of the powers that be.

In fact, I argued that the hypothetical transition, from state of nature to that of a civil society, represented perhaps the last act of true compromise in that a zero-sum game was miraculously transformed into a win-win situation: everyone was a winner, no one a loser. Everything after that, if granted, was granted begrudgingly. None of the gains secured by the "lower classes" since – since the inception of a civil society, that is – have been bequeathed in that spirit; they've been won, instead, by bitter struggle, tooth and nail. And they've all come at the expense of the dilution of power, the power of the privileged ones, if you know what I mean.

This was one of the imports of Part III. There, I spoke of rights which are deemed fundamental and which in a manner of speaking, inaugurated the hypothesized passage from state of nature to that of a civil society, and of rights which for better or worse, come with membership in that society and which, minimally at least, define that very society and provide it with its raison d'être.

It's with respect to the latter kind of rights that the matter at hand is unmistakably clear in that whether we're talking about extending the original franchise to universal franchise or about civil rights, they've all been born out of struggle and against stiff resistance from the forces of status quo, all intent on preserving their position of power and privilege. For indeed, as I argued above, there was no longer anything to gain from making the concession and granting these rights to those who didn't have them so as to enable them to participate more fully in the life of a political community, only everything to lose (for it did represent a definite realignment of political and economic power). The very fact that however begrudgingly, those rights were granted and are now part of the society's legal corpus is a testimonial to human progress – the proliferation of rights, again, serving as a reliable benchmark. And I spoke of that, too.

Another point of note was that the recent focus on rights, the cornerstone of modern political theory, has its grounding in moral theory – the point being to imbue the practice of politics with ethical principles and thought so as to make it more responsive to moral demands. Which is why progress in the area of human rights represents real progress, since "rights" serve here as an extension of the moral worth and moral equivalence of persons, properly transliterated to mean citizens' rights in the context of a full-fledged political community – the most natural of human habitats.

It's in this respect that universal healthcare, the topic of this series, presented an anomaly of sorts because unlike other rights – such as universal franchise, for instance – it is contingent in a very real sense on the material conditions of a given society: in a nutshell, a society must be prosperous enough to be able to afford universal healthcare. And since human rights, especially those appertaining to, or spelling out as it were, the moral equivalence and worthiness of persons, are unconditional, it followed that we can't speak of universal healthcare as a right.

Hence the necessary corrective, reconceptualization of universal healthcare in terms of benefits and social or societal obligation to provide such to each and every member – again with an all-important proviso that the society is prosperous enough to be able to afford it. What remains is to show that the obligation in question is in essence a moral obligation, and that the cause of universal healthcare doesn't suffer much from having been "demoted" thus from its ill-conceived status as a right. Once done, we can still hold on to the idea of universal healthcare as a moral imperative, though contextualized this time to a particular society – namely, a society which presumably can afford it.

Once again, I refer the reader to the exchange which served as a kick off for the entire series:

PRO: Healthcare should not be a choice. One should not have to pick between healthcare or rent or . . . food on the table. Not in a civilized world.

CON: It does seem like such a moral truism in our current context, but the context obfuscates the central issues. In simpler terms, if the world consisted of you and me and I decided I didn't want to want to work in the garden or help with the food or exchange you anything of value for it, should you be forced to work twice as hard for the rest of your life to do it for me? The answer might very well be yes, but there is a distinct tradeoff. Food and healthcare don't just magically appear; someone is working their ass off to make it happen. Because our society is large and our services big and complex does not make that simple fact any less true.

Notice that the opponent well-nigh concedes the moral point of the debate, for he does speak of "moral truism" of sorts – namely, that in a civilized world "healthcare should not be a [matter of] choice" in that one shouldn't have to choose between healthcare or rent or food on the table. His objection, rather, is a practical one, having to do with who is going to pay for it, or more succinctly perhaps, who is going to have to work twice as hard to make it happen. Whether a "civilized world" entails a prosperous one as well is another matter; I assume that it does. I shall also assume that when push comes to shove, our society can afford it. But practical considerations aside – and that's a subject for another place and time – the moral point remains. The question is why.

Again, I'm going to fall back here on the notion of rights as representing an extension of the moral equivalence and worthiness of persons (as members of a political community). And by that token, just as our fundamental human rights (to life, property, and so on), or the extended, citizens' rights (such as civil rights or universal suffrage), are but some of the manifestations of that worthiness, it's no different with healthcare: they all espouse a system of values whereby humans and human well-being are central.

Consequently, it doesn't really matter whether healthcare is a right or a societal obligation, reflecting a mere possibility in the actual world and therefore contingent for the fact, because the relationship is the same – a relationship, that is, between human worthiness (and all that it entails), which is the highest value, and its different expressions. And since no material contingency can possibly upset a relationship that is essentially logical or concept-bound, it follows that every human society ought to aspire to promote the well-being of all its members, regardless of whether it can afford it or not; and this includes healthcare.

Indeed, on this scheme of things, individuals and their well-being come before a political community or the state: it is for their benefit that the state is instituted, not vice versa. Which explains, I suppose, why the only credible objection to universal healthcare is a practical one, having to do with affordability and redistribution of wealth, or the passion which infects all the proponents – a passion, I might add, that's clearly born out of moral conviction, there being no other source. (I think we can safely discount the few die-harts who still argue the case on moral grounds; they're dinosaurs.)

Thus we've come full circle, endowing universal healthcare with the status of moral imperative. Its present status as moral obligation, dischargeable only in some cases and not in others, ought to be viewed as a temporary condition. Which suggests an agenda for all right-thinking women and men: forging a more prosperous world, a world in which poverty and hunger are no longer, a world where all the usual amenities and dignities which are due to humans are available to all.

If a world government or the new world order is the answer, so be it. The important thing is – no one must be left out.

(A version of this article was published first in Blogcritics, Politics section)

It's been fashionable of late to reduce all manner of social struggles and conflicts to the question of human rights. This shouldn't be surprising because the concept of human rights has indeed become one of the central concepts in modern political theory (and for good reasons, naturally).

The first thing that comes to mind is the idea of infusing the practice of politics with moral thinking, or to put it more succinctly, of bringing the state (or the government, if you like) more in line with ethical principles and thought so as to make it more responsive to demands for redressing whatever inequalities still exist, or are perceived to exist, in a civil society. To that end, the concept of rights is ideally suited because it tends to endow all humans (and in a more restrictive sense, the citizens of a political community) with equal moral worth. Which is to say that these rights, to the extent they're recognized, represent an extension of the moral equivalence of persons — each such right, again to the extent that it's recognized, being an aspect, or a dimension, if you will, in regard to which each and every member of a civil society is presumed to be equal.

This privileged status of "rights" hasn't been lost on political activists and the presumptive leaders of the many social movements which have sprung in our recent past and spread throughout the globe like wildfire. From John Stuart Mill to Martin Luther King, Jr., from Betty Friedan to Harvey Milk, from NAACP or Planned Parenthood or NRA to ACLU – each of these organizations or individuals have used "rights" as a banner, a call to arms under which not only to mobilize sufficient public support behind the heralded cause but also to carry the fight to a successful conclusion.

Just think. Everywhere you look, in every significant social gain that has been won in the past century or so – from universal suffrage to civil rights, from gay rights to the rights of the handicapped, from Brown v. Board of Education (which overturned the "separate but equal" clause) to abortion rights – there is this magic word "rights" affixed to it, attesting to its indefeasibility. And no wonder, because there's no better or more effective way of espousing a cause other than by couching it in terms of "the moral equivalence of persons." Only then are you liable to muster significant support from all those who believe themselves to be discriminated against in the pertinent respect but more importantly perhaps, to demoralize the opposition.

So yes, there's no surer way of guaranteeing the passage of some key legislation and generally speaking, making progress towards a more just and equitable society, than by representing the issue as though a matter of human rights. For indeed, there's no arguing against morality. And once the argument has been couched in essentially moral terms, it's already been won. It's only a matter of time.

Are there limits to this strategy? Are there circumstances, in other words, when such a liberal application of the "rights" concept might be inappropriate, let alone challenged? Of the latter we can almost be certain, because no one in their right mind would let their opponent get away with murder and claim the "rights" status to a hotly-debated issue if the claim is defeasible. Consequently, it behooves us, if only for practical reasons, to see whether the use of the term can be stretched, and how far. Miscalling the situation is one sure way of guaranteeing the defeat (or at least postponing the possibility of victory by getting bogged down with time-consuming arguments as to whether the issue at hand is, properly speaking, a right).

It's been suggested by one of the commenters (see the first of this four-part series) that the idea of

... healthcare being a "right"... is absurd on its face. [Because] rights are by nature innate; and as some would argue, Thomas Jefferson comes to mind, we are born with them, and [they are] not given to us. There are civil rights which frequently are intermingled freely among those left leaning denizens; however civil rights are not rights in the true sense of the word, but legislated by a majority of legislators

The remark is correct in the first instance, partly incorrect in the second. It's certainly true that passing a piece of legislation is not a reliable litmus test as to whether something is a right. Certainly the so-called "innate" rights – to life, property, and so forth – are not so much a matter of legislation as of recognition: since they're considered "innate," their legislation (as the commenter would have it) is unnecessary.

But the argument goes further, which is to say that if "recognition" is the critical element in deciding whether something is an "innate right," then it would stand to reason that legislation might lag. Indeed, all "innate" rights may be said to be such even prior to our recognizing them as such – which is to say, whether or not we recognize them as so. Consequently, if our recognition of "innate rights" may lag (if for no other reason, let's say, than "less-than-perfect consciousness"), the same is doubly-true of legislation, although for different reasons, naturally (such as resistance or inertia, to name but two). It follows therefore that insofar as "innate rights" are concerned, neither our recognition of them nor legislation can serve as valid criteria. So in this particular respect, the commenter is on target.

The problem lies with what the commenter omits. For in seeming to define all rights as if "by nature innate," the commenter as good as obliterates a perfectly valid distinction – namely, between rights which are innate and those which come with membership.

One obvious result would be to count the rights enumerated in the Bill of Rights (see Part II) among innate rights; the other possibility, rather unthinkable, would be to count them as no rights at all. But surely, we've seen that such things as the right to trial by jury, the right to due process, or protection from unreasonable search and seizure, are hardly "innate" but are "member-related" rights: they come with membership in a political community, form an integral part of it, in fact, and wouldn't make much sense apart from it. The same could be said for "voting rights" which, too, may be said to be constitutive of the community in question, on the order of, say, the bylaws or rules of order as regards its perpetuity or some other such thing.

Civil rights present an anomaly of sorts in that they may count as either. They're certainly "member-related" rights to the extent they spell out a code of conduct that is binding on each and every member of a political community. And yet, they're also "innate" insofar as proper behavior or conduct with respect to others is not only obligatory on the part of, but also an inherent right of, moral agents: we're bound by our morality to treat all persons with respect and as our moral equals. (Indeed, we shall see that most, if not all, member-related rights are of this kind.) It all depends therefore on the context and your point of reference.

Which suggests another interesting way of drawing the necessary distinction: if "membership rights" pertain first and foremost to rights which are due to one in his or her capacity as a member – whether of a social club, a civil society, or a full-fledged political community – then perhaps what we refer to as "innate rights" speaks to rights of persons qua persons.

It should be added that a person's membership in a political community doesn't negate their inherent rights (which is to say, their rights as persons): if anything, they're primary or first-order rights unto which other kinds of rights of the second-order (and members' rights is the classic example) may be added. Notice, however, that what's been termed as "first-order rights (to refer thus to the inherent rights which come with personhood) require no validation whether by means of passing a law, an edict or a piece of legislation. Even their recognition as such is not necessary for their ontological status. Suffice to say, they form rather some basic assumptions concerning the moral worth of persons. And because of that, this set of assumptions is, by nature, open-ended and incomplete – an infinite set, at that, whose elements are neither enumerable nor fully-definable (since "the moral worth of persons" itself is an open-ended, limitless concept).

What of members' (i.e., second-order) rights? Are they also independent of human law-making and, what comes prior to it, cognizance? Obviously, it can't be so because the notion of membership entails the notion of rules, whether by way of bylaws, a charter, or whatnot: it's arguable in fact that membership is predicated by those rules which, in turn, confer rights and privileges to the individual members.

It's on this score that the commenter is dead wrong. For member-related rights define an important category of rights, more important in many respects than the kind of rights we call "innate" and construe thus as an extension of personhood. And the reason is, they form the foundation of a political community. Indeed, any kind of progress towards a more just and equitable society can only be measured in terms of citizens' rights. There's no other yardstick. Consequently, they can't be ignored.

How are we to justify then the claim that "healthcare being a 'right'...is absurd on its face"? Granted, the disclaimer was made in terms of a rather impoverished set of categories, which makes it only trivially true. For indeed, healthcare is not any innate kind of right in the sense defined. And it won't do to argue that 'tis so because the right to healthcare derives from the right to life. In fact, a stronger counterargument can be made – namely, that healthcare isn't a right at all, whether in the original or the extended, membership-derived sense.

Why so? Because of contingency, that's why! No innate rights which come with personhood, not even member-related rights, can be subject to any contingency.

This point is more difficult to grasp in the second instance rather than the first (because all "innate rights" may be said to be unconditional). Consider the fact, however, that all membership rights (while "contingent" in some remote sense on the existence of a political community which, in a manner of speaking, validates them in turn) – are in effect an extension of the rights of personhood – of the (innate) rights of individual persons to their rights as citizens, all bona fide members of a political community, that is. Indeed, all the citizens' rights alluded to earlier, whether stated in the original Bill of Rights or those which have been added by way of amendments, are but the inalienable rights of persons (this time, however, as bona fide members of a political community), property transliterated, one might add, so as to fit what I regard as humans' natural habitat – the political environment. End of story.

Indeed, there's nothing contingent about, say, voting or civil rights except in the most trivial sense, namely, that all such rights are "contingent" upon the existence of a political community. But aside from this rather minor and inconsequential point, one could well argue that given the context of the American society and polity – to take but one instance – granting those rights (or extending them, as the case may have been, to include the great majority of the citizens) didn't cost a thing. True, the Civil War did cause a great deal of havoc; and along with extending the franchise to African-Americans, it contributed to diminished political and economic fortunes of the South. And the same, I suppose, could be said for extending the franchise to women: it brought about a definite realignment of political power. But these are extraneous considerations, having more to do with inter-societal relations and redistribution of political and economic power, less with the issue at hand. For our society, taken as whole, could well afford granting those rights, although there's no denying there were some losers and some winners. In short, affordability was never in question, and that's the crux of the matter.

How then does healthcare become disqualified as a right on the aforementioned grounds – in terms of affordability, that is, and in the final analysis, contingency? Simply because putting it into effect would require nothing less than a prosperous society. In short, its viability as a right is made contingent (this time in the proper, meaningful sense) on the material conditions of a civil society: it just so happens that some human societies might be able to provide healthcare benefits to all of its members (again, because they can afford it) whereas others might not. But no first-order or second-order right, as I've argued time and again, can be subject to a contingency, material or otherwise. To speak of human rights as being dependent on circumstances, least of all, on whether they're affordable, is not only a linguistic misnomer; it as good as obliterates the concept of rights. QED.

Does it mean that the cause of universal healthcare must suffer therefore or go in defeat? Not at all! There is a perfectly good language in which to voice the present concerns. I've written already of healthcare in terms of benefits – a most natural turn of phrase, don't you think? By the same token, we could expand our universe of discourse and speak of social or societal obligation. And that's another, rather fortunate turn of phrase, I'd say, if only because it reflects the reality of the situation: for it's arguable in fact that a society, and a prosperous society at that, should consider the well-being of all its citizens as one of its utmost priorities, and this certainly includes healthcare.

Notice, however, that obligations don't create rights: they exist independently of rights, and the demands generated thereby don't have the status of rights. Obligations, furthermore, can be conditional, temporal, and contingent, subject to revocation if and when the circumstances warrant. Rights are none of those things; and the act of revoking them is sufficient grounds for dissolving a civil society or the state itself.

Disallowing the status of a right to universal healthcare and couching the debate instead in terms of social benefits and societal obligation is not that much of a disadvantage, as we shall see. True, it appears to deprive the proponents of what has been thus far their chief weapon, the moral imperative. Even so, a compelling argument can be made that a civil society such as ours should be morally obligated to provide universal healthcare to all, especially if it can afford it.

(A version of this article was published first in Blogcritics, Politics section)

Is the adversarial model, associated with the state of nature and the subsequent transition from asocial to social arrangements, still applicable once we move to consider civil societies? More importantly, perhaps, can we extend the notion of compromise, and that of "taking an insurance policy," to cover the manner in which most of the human rights have been won? Can we construe other rights and social gains on analogy with how the basic rights, such as the right to life and property, have been secured in the course of the aforementioned transition? Is the model still applicable once we're past that transition?

The answer to the first question must be an unequivocal yes. Although the state-of-nature construct represents perhaps the direst in asocial arrangements, we also know that the state of conflict never really disappears: the manner of its resolution may become more or less "civil" in the context of civil societies, but the interest in maintaining the status quo by means of the existing power structures and social hierarchy will never wane, of that we can be certain. Indeed, one way of understanding the development of human societies is in terms of a progression from the antagonistic to the more cooperative mode. And the main mechanism of this progression, from societies that are less civil to those that are more so, has been compromise.

The second set of questions requires a more measured response. Here we may start with the Bill of Rights, serving as a prototype if you like. Along with the right to life and property, one could lump all the rights enumerated therein as being fundamental and in that sense, inalienable. There is, besides, a historical reason for doing so, in that all of those rights may be said to define a political community and inaugurate its passage from a pre-social and pre-political stage to a full-fledged polity in every sense of the word. Just as a charter may be said to guarantee certain rights and privileges to all its present and would-be members, be it a group or a social club, in the same manner the Bill of Rights may be said to constitute the foundation of a political community – the United States. Guaranteeing those rights (again, it's arguable) is tantamount to according them a certain innate, inalienable status – a status which predates the formation of the political community and cannot therefore be construed as though constituting the condition of membership. It's the other way around, in fact, the Bill of Rights itself being the precondition of the political community, the main reason why the individuals in the state of nature would chose to enter a "social contract" and form a civil society, so they wouldn't have to fend for themselves and their inalienable rights but be guaranteed adequate protection – by the state.

Oddly enough, the Bill of Rights is conspicuously silent about suffrage or voting rights. Even the Constitution is of little help here. Section 2, Clause 1, for example (Article One), dealing with the House of Representatives and the composition and election of members, simply states that

the House of Representatives shall be composed of Members chosen every second Year by the People of the several States, and the Electors in each State shall have the Qualifications requisite for Electors of the most numerous Branch of the State Legislature.

In effect, therefore, the U.S. Constitution does not directly guarantee the right of suffrage to anyone [see Minor v. Happersett (1874), for instance] – the high-sounding phrase, "the People," being (purposely perhaps) ambiguous and vague. It isn't in fact until the Reconstruction Era that we begin to see a series of constitutional amendments extending voting rights to different groups of citizens. These extensions state that voting rights cannot be denied or abridged based on:

"race, color, or previous condition of servitude" (15th Amendment, 1870);"on account of sex" (gender) (19th Amendment, 1920); "by reason of failure to pay any poll tax or other tax" (24th Amendment, 1964);"who are eighteen years of age or older, to vote, shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any state on account of age" (26th Amendment, 1971).

Why are voting rights an important example to look at? How do they differ from the rights specified in the original document?

What both situations have in common is the same paradigm – namely, the antagonistic model of a society in the making and the instrument of compromise as the proven method of conflict resolution. Indeed, the very fact that each of the four amendments (extending the voting rights to approximate the perfect ideal of universal suffrage) came in the aftermath of a bitter struggle is proof positive. [It's worth noting that the idea of voting as a right was never in question, only its application. What was originally construed by "the People," to mean perhaps only the propertied class or some such, was extended in time to include more and more "citizens": former slaves (whether of African or other ethnic origin), women, and so forth, and do away with former restrictions.] Consider the differences, however.

If we construe the rights listed in the original Bill of Rights as a precondition to forming the Union, the history of voting rights suggests they're a horse of another color.

There is another, though related difference. Whereas the forming of the Union can be viewed as transforming a zero-sum game into a win-win situation [whereby life, property and the existing pre-social arrangements are not only preserved but also guaranteed (see the penultimate paragraph of Part I)], the same cannot be said for universal suffrage which, if anything, tends to undermine the status quo by presenting a challenge.

In the first instance, the distinction of note may well be between those rights which we regard as innate or inalienable and those which come with membership – in a group, a social club, or a society at large – which is to say that whereas the first set of rights cannot be said to dissolve with the dissolution of membership and are, in that sense, extraneous to it, voting rights, on the other hand, are an integral part of what it means to be a member, and they're subject therefore to any number of emendations and changes. And in the second? Well, perhaps it's only to say that while we're still operating with an adversarial model (of a civil society), the notion of compromise has yielded to that of . . . concession (or appeasement, if you like).

Civil rights offer another interesting example of member-related rights. Unlike the voting rights, which may be said to constitute the club's or the society's charter or its bylaws, they tend to address the code of conduct. They, too, are subject to change, which sets them a category apart from the original, inalienable rights (which are deemed irrevocable). Indeed, the more we move away from the original, inalienable rights, the more it looks as though concession (or forced cooperation) is the main mechanism of conflict-resolution in an adversarial society: a win-win situation becomes a rarity since only some are the winners.

What has this got to do with universal healthcare? It sets the stage for the introduction of yet another concept to our already complex model of a civil society in conflict – that of benefit which accrues to each and every member (and the corresponding concept of social obligation).

In Part III, I shall argue in fact that perhaps the clearest way to think about universal healthcare is not on analogy with rights but with another program already in effect – the Food Stamp Program.

June 14, 2009

(A version of this article was published first in Blogcritics, Politics section)

Consider the following exchange. To my mind, it encapsulates the two positions with respect to any legislation which aims at revamping our healthcare system (HR676, for example), pro and con:

PRO: Healthcare should not be a choice. One should not have to pick between healthcare or rent or . . . food on the table. Not in a civilized world.

CON: It does seem like such a moral truism in our current context, but the context obfuscates the central issues. In simpler terms, if the world consisted of you and me and I decided I didn't want to want to work in the garden or help with the food or exchange you anything of value for it, should you be forced to work twice as hard for the rest of your life to do it for me? The answer might very well be yes, but there is a distinct tradeoff. Food and healthcare don't just magically appear; someone is working their ass off to make it happen. Because our society is large and our services big and complex does not make that simple fact any less true.

In an effort to distill this argument, I'll dispose first of the attempt at reductionism, then say a word or two about an alternative way to think about rights. I think we're way past the point where questions about healthcare – whether it's a safety net, an entitlement, or a right – are decisive anymore, let alone helpful; in fact, I shall argue they're not. Also, I'm not going to go much into the details of this proposal or that; that's for experts and healthcare professionals to decide. Think of this exercise as a "conceptual approach" to this nagging problem.

The matter of reductionism first. It's all fine and dandy to insist on the absolute right to the fruits of one's labor, and what goes with it, the spirit of no cooperation, while in a "state of nature" (see link below) defined by general hostility, or enmity, between all and all alike, a state when life is "solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short." Which is why humans enter into a "social contract," to experience the peace that comes with a civil society; and part of the price they pay is that their "rights" – at long last, guaranteed – are no longer deemed absolute but relative.

Consequently, the proper context is a "civilized world" as the "pro" argument has stated. Perhaps a "civil society" is a more fitting term since we haven't reached such a happy state yet, and what comes with it, a certain level of prosperity: a society must be prosperous enough to be able to afford the basics to each and every member, so that choosing between healthcare, food or shelter isn't necessary.

What are some of the benefits which accrue to each and every member, now a part of a political community, and how are they paid for? And what is the tradeoff involved in compromising one's would-be absolute rights to life and property, and freedom to do as one pleases with the fruits of their labor, for rights that are somewhat imperfect (because curbed and made relative)?

Consider the business of "offering protection," surely the first if not the foremost concern which would make a person give up some of their "perfect" freedoms and enter a social contract. Prior to these arrangements, it would be up to the individual to protect their life and property. And whilst 'tis true that any number of individuals so moved would be apt to join forces for the express purpose of protecting their interests – a "mutual protection agency" is the term in use – it's also true that any such agency and the interests it'd purport to represent could also be challenged. Hence the solution: a "dominant protection agency," to encompass every member of the society in order to guarantee a nonviolent resolution of all conflicts and offer equal protection to each and everyone alike – in short, a "minimal state" in the jargon of political philosophy (see Nozick's Anarchy, State, and Utopia).

Notice that the proposed solution, the formation of a (minimal) state, is not a result of moral deliberation but is born out of (social) compromise. It's utterly functional in basis, having nothing to do with what's right or wrong, only with what's to everyone's advantage.

We shall return to this important distinction and the corresponding instruments of social change, the moral and the pragmatic. Of particular interest is the resulting interaction between the two – an interaction without which no social change, I daresay, would be possible; and it bears directly on the present debate concerning our healthcare crisis. Indeed, the fundamental right of each and every citizen to equal protection – perhaps the only viable model upon which all subsequent rights are to be construed – has its origin not in moral but in pragmatic thinking.

But why compromise at all? Aren't the rich, i.e., those with property to protect, already powerful enough to fend off any and all counterclaims and challenges? Especially if they were to band together and present a united front, wouldn't it stand to reason that the armies they could thus raise in their own defense would more than offset anything that could be thrown by the opposition?

That may be so, but the outcome of such struggles is always uncertain. The rich may be powerful but they're only a few, the few against the many. Hence the compromise as a happy solution. It's like taking an insurance policy where the cost of the premiums (taxation) far outweighs the risk of losing it all. Indeed, even the poor are in for a bargain because of a lower premium; and there are always some who are poorer than you. It is thus that a zero-sum game is magically transformed into a win-win situation: there are no losers.

In closing, I'll extend the notion of compromise, and the implicit notion of "taking an insurance policy," to include other "rights." And the general idea is, what we're currently experiencing as a healthcare crisis is ripe for solution – which is to say that the moral argument on behalf of universal healthcare as a right (or a safety net, if you like) has already been won. All that remains is a compromise.

June 05, 2009

(A version of this article was published first in Blogcritics, Politics section)

Philosophers are particularly good at untangling unclear concepts; they are experienced at the task of formulating problems clearly and logically; they are ready to unmask the hidden presuppositions underlying a particular formulation. This is the kind of work Wittgenstein describes as "letting the fly out of the fly bottle"; it is what J. L. Austin does so well in "Three ways of spilling ink." Drawing distinctions and formulating ideas clearly -- these are core intellectual tools, and they lie at the root of philosophy (Understanding Society).

Everyone would agree that torture is deplorable, perhaps the most abominable in human behavior. Are there circumstances, however, under which it might be justifiable or permissible?

That's one important question which seems to exercise the finest minds of late, both on the national stage and our little microcosm here on BC. A further-reaching question perhaps, though rarely if ever asked, might be put thus: Do the very same acts, which under normal circumstances would undoubtedly constitute "torture," deserve this most abhorrent of epithets when performed under circumstances or conditions that are, by anyone's estimation, unusual?

Consider the following, rather astute observation to serve as our point of departure:

"If we look at torture in civilian life we never see cases where torture is employed to elicit information. Torture is employed for personal amusement by twisted personalities."

In a sense, the aforementioned remark hits the nail on the head. It comes awfully close to what Wittgenstein called a "grammatical remark," a remark whose express purpose was to elucidate the key concept (torture). In the first part, we learn that under normal circumstances (civilian life), torture rarely has anything to do with eliciting information; in the second, that it's associated most often with "twisted personalities."

The notion of cruelty comes to mind, intentional cruelty – cruelty to animals being one example. The act seems to serve no discernible purpose other than to satisfy one's sadistic impulses and feed the crazed personality. That's the core of the concept as far as I'm concerned: the association of torture with cruelty; and the connotation of the term only confirms that. Torture is a taboo – more of a taboo, perhaps than incest, rape, even murder.

It would seem convenient, therefore, to leave matters at that and argue that's the purpose behind the strongest possible language and its highly evocative quality: namely, to guard against any and all instances or incidences of torture under "normal" circumstances.

But this cannot be the truth, or the whole truth, since it would mean a near-total misuse of an otherwise perfectly functional moral language: for it's not morality or moral rebuke that are likely to be effective in preventing someone from pursing their perverted inclinations to acts of cruelty and the like, but therapy or lock & key. All of which seems to suggest that the intentionally strong language associated with such terms as cruelty or torture is designed with an entirely different purpose in mind, to deal with extraordinary cases.

What cases, one might ask. Precisely the kind of cases excluded from consideration in the first part of the subject remark – i.e., "where torture is [being] employed to elicit information." Indeed, it's only because anything that even smacks of torture or cruelty is an utter abomination that extreme safeguards are necessary to prevent any such act, not out of depravity but when done for a reason, whatever the reason! And this brings us to our first question: Are there circumstances under which acts of torture might be permissible, let alone justifiable? What sort of circumstances might they be?

Consider the following "ticking bomb" scenario (and its "milder" alternative):

An innocent's life is at stake. The bad guy you have captured possesses information that could save this life. He refuses to divulge. In such a case, the choice is easy. Even John McCain, the most admirable and estimable torture opponent, says openly that in such circumstances, "You do what you have to do." And then take the responsibility.

The second exception to the no-torture rule is the extraction of information from a high-value enemy in possession of high-value information likely to save lives. This case lacks the black-and-white clarity of the ticking time bomb scenario. We know less about the length of the fuse or the nature of the next attack. But we do know the danger is great. (One of the "torture memos" noted that the CIA had warned that terrorist "chatter" had reached pre-9/11 levels.) We know we must act but have no idea where or how -- and we can't know that until we have information. Catch-22.

As far as I am concerned, both situations can be reduced to one: one life versus the many, and absolute knowledge versus knowledge that is imperfect, aren't sufficient enough differences if getting bogged down with them would mean losing sight of the main point. And that point seems to be that one way or another, act we must. Lives are at stake, along with a reasonable assurance that direct action might prevent a catastrophe.

What Charles Krauthammer has done is to present us with an instance of linguistic incongruity. One way out of this incongruity (and the inherent dilemma) is to put a different slant on things. Let's call it "enhanced interrogation techniques" – EITs, for short, and a common term by now –and escape thus the criticism that we're engaging in torture.

The problem is that most of the acts subsumable under the more benign, EIT label, such as waterboarding for instance, are torture. And it wouldn't help any to try to escape the dilemma by insisting that it's not, for I could easily come up with far more abhorrent "techniques," such as piercing one's eyes or maiming them, the worst things you could do to a human short of killing them – acts so abhorrent in fact that no one in their right mind, not even the staunchest defenders of waterboarding, would dare argue it's not torture. And so we're back to square one.

The linguistic incongruity I'm speaking of, and the dilemma, can be put thus: while it's not unreasonable to engage in EIT, it's definitely unreasonable to engage in torture. Torture, insofar as our common understanding of the term goes, is never reasonable.

Bear in mind now that the injunction against torture, the very force of the term, the reason why it carries such a negative connotation, is not to dissuade the sickos. God knows we've got plenty of them, and lock & key or therapy is the only solution. Quite the contrary, the raison d'être for the injunction concerns ordinary folk, none of whom have either a predisposition for or the propensity to engage in violent acts against another human in order to satisfy their sadistic impulses. It's directed to you and me and all reasonable people; and it's against the idea of torture as a method, a means of eliciting information, a means to an end which, by all reasonable standards, is not only justified but right.

"Be careful" is what the injunction says. And if you think you must resort to torture in order to prevent a greater evil, you had better be certain it's absolutely necessary because the means rarely justify the ends. People have been known to go wrong here, and absolute certainty is a must. Which, again, points to our dilemma: the incongruity of not being able reconcile torture with reasonableness; the situation seems to demand it and yet – it doesn't seem right.

I have a proposal to make. Though on the right track, Krauthammer doesn't go far enough. He's willing to live with the linguistic incongruity in question for he does speak of "no-torture rule" exceptions. Well, I'm not! Why not go the full mile and say that the same acts which under ordinary circumstances would definitely constitute torture are not torture under circumstances which are extraordinary?

A radical proposal, you say? Perhaps. But consider the pitfalls inherent in judging any situation or act in terms of objective facts alone. A perjury, for instance, is not a lie, if only because it's enunciated in a court of law and under oath: it may earn you a jail sentence, whereas lies are commonplace and carry no penalty whatever, except possible disapproval. Indeed, we even make allowances for lies, as when we speak of white lies.

You might want to dismiss these examples as irrelevant, think of them as legal niceties; and you'd be right to a point, because there is this tendency in legal thinking to go overboard at times and make distinctions without a difference. Let me assure you, however, that's not the case here. A person's future is at stake, whether they'll be charged or not, not to mention their sentence. These aren't trivial matters; and our language, legal or otherwise, is only doing what it's supposed to.

It's axiomatic therefore that the intent behind the act, the circumstances, all things large or small, are more pertinent when it comes to determining its nature or how we're going to call it than its external, objective parameters. Things aren't always what they seem; and language tries to keep track of the relevant differences, if only to keep us honest.

How does this relate to the subject matter at hand – the apparent or would-be acts of torture, the exact definition, the kind of acts which are permissible as well as those which are not, in short, the morality of it all? This, I'm afraid, I'm not prepared to say. But what I can and will say is that the subject matter of torture remains in that shadowy area of linguistic incongruity; and it promises to remain so, unless of course we come up with a better term for it than "enhanced interrogation techniques."

May 21, 2009

(It is with great honor that I'd like to introduce you to a fellow writer, Mr. Horace Mungin. "The Phantom Culprit" is a gem of a piece, outstanding both for its content and literary style. It appeared first in Blogcritics, Politics section, and I'm grateful to the author for allowing me to reproduce it here in full. You're also welcome to visit Mr. Mungin's blog.)

I have a face that is known around the world, but I'm most infamous in the United States of America. It is there that I was born untold years ago and it is there that I am propagated and nurtured. I am as much a symbol of American culture as baseball, but my appearances aren't seasonal. I am ordained whenever the need arises. A young white mother in South Carolina drowned her two sons by rolling her car into a lake. Attempting to absolve herself of any blame, she lied that a black man carjacked her children. She gave a police sketch artist a description of me and for days, in front of television cameras, she tearfully pleaded that I should return her children. That sketch appeared in newscasts around the world. I was once again resurrected.

One day, a powerful white politician parked his car on the Manhattan side of the East River with a panoramic view of his home borough of Queens. Then this important official shot himself in an attempt to divert public attention from his past corruption. It was I whom he fingered from his hospital bed. I shot him, he lied, in an attempt to rob him. The picture of his empty car parked at the spot of the shooting was shown on television for a week with an appeal for information that would lead to the arrest of a shadowy black man fitting my description.

An unfaithful white husband, in Boston, drove his wife he no longer wanted, pregnant with a baby boy, he had not desired, atop an unkempt bridge in a black neighborhood and shot them dead. He knew that this was a prime location from which to launch his fabrication. He also knew what description to give in order to set the Boston Police Department on the lookout for me. The hunt began, as it has for hundreds of years, with compelling zeal.

That I am a convenient and believable scapegoat for some white people with sinister motives, due to no fault of my own, is at the heart of my story, and is also a symptom of an incessant American illness. I tell my story in the protest style of the old Negro writers of the Negro Renaissance because so many people proclaim that the time for that kind of protest has long past. I disagree – how can the time for that kind of protest have passed when the reasons for protest has not? Far too many white people still find it easy to believe that I did it, whatever the "it" might be, because they know human nature, they say. For half of the time I've been with them on this continent, they have denied my humanity, but now they accept and fear the reality that my instincts are, indeed, human ones. And, knowing human nature as they do, they reasoned that if my instincts are human, I would want to kill them for all that they have suffered upon me. They know that this is how they would react had the shoe been on the other foot; and in this sense, they inadvertently allow that I am the same as they. Whenever the alarm goes out for my arrest, they suspect that I am striking back at them, as they would do, for the centuries of harm they have heaped on me.

Then, for them, there is this murky distinction between the unreal part of me which is a figment of their minds and the existence of real black Americans. They confuse us for each other – they mix and match us whenever it's to their convenience. That I am not real sometimes escapes even me and I find myself referring to the real black people as me. It's a handy sociological tool that bridges the distinction between reality and expectancy.

This is exactly my problem: Most white people's expectation that I would retaliate for what they have done to me, allows them to believe that I would carjack children, shoot a powerful politician, kill a pregnant woman, or even worst. I might want to share equally in the abundance of American life. It is a fact that they anticipate a day when I will raise up to make amends that keeps my portrait at the ready in their minds. They have a collective expectation and a single image of me in their individual minds. Why else would a white woman in an elevator with a rich and famous black man fear for her pocketbook? She has prefect vision, but it is not with her eyes that she observes this man. She views him through the filter of her guilt and her fear. She thinks this is an opportunity for him to even the score. The fear blinds her; she thinks he's me – the Phantom Culprit – the one black man all white people carry around in their heads.

Now it's only fair that I point out that when I say all white people, I don't literally mean all white people – but only that amount which gives the statement accuracy. This means that there are some whom I've maligned – you know how you are – I beg your pardon.

Here is how I am most often described. I have a long face with full lips, a broad nose, sinister cheek lines and menacing eyes. I am brown-skinned. I am sometimes drawn wearing the knit hat that was popularized in cartoons depictions of second story men wearing black masks, carrying a long flashlight and a sack of loot. I resemble no other black man in America, yet every black man in America can be mistaken for me and many have fallen to that misfortune. It takes little effort for those who describe me to verbally transmit my facial likeness to those whose fingers reproduce my image, because I am an identical figment of their imaginations. Whether I'm tall or just a midget is not known. It isn't known if I have all of my limbs. Menace that I am, I may have four arms and thorns for fingers. And as allusive as I've been, I might have wings that enable me to swiftly perform my geographical gymnastics. I find it humbling that I have never been given a proper name, a situation that sometimes makes it hard for me to grasp the reality of my existence. For the sake of this narration, lets everyone call me Leroy, no, make that Leroy the Phantom Culprit. Yes, now that has a certain ring of truth to it. Aha, you say, now you know who I am.

I'm not really a person; I'm a tool. It used to be that many white policemen in big Northern cities learned to carry an extra pistol or a knife with them, so if they were ever involved in an unjustified shooting death of a black person, that extra pistol or knife became evidence to exonerate the policeman and justify the killing. I condemn the North for this practice, but in Southern areas of the country, this was an unnecessary annoyance. These are the tools white policemen used to protect and guide their careers in law enforcement. I am the tool white policemen use as subterfuge for the horrors they commit.

Personally, I don't mind it for myself, but it does cause a lot of disruptions and unpleasantness in black communities and among black people. Many black men have died in my stead. Many of them while profusely proclaiming their innocence, and many of them, while plainly innocent to officials and the public, are condemned for the dysfunction, on the matter of race, that takes place in the minds of some white people. On many occasions I have been accused of engaging in what they say is my favorite pastime, raping white women, a preeminent capital offense; and over the years, scores of innocent black men have had to duplicate the fate of the Scottsboro Boy in the most horrific manner. Nothing ever enrages and blinds the white man more than the accusation that I have bedded his woman – forcefully or not.

I don't mind that many white people describe me in the same way; after all, if they didn't, I could not exist. The energy of my existence comes from their imaginations. It is through them that I derive my shape, my notoriety and malformation, my helplessness as well as my power. Yes, my power – although I have casted myself as a victim, on the Yang side of my weakness is my power, as on the Ying side of my power is my weakness. Slippery? Let me explain: It is only there, in the mass white psychic, that I exist.

There was a time in the South when the majority of white voters favored the Democratic Party. During the civil rights era, the Democratic Party aligned itself with the movement for equal rights; a position that alienated white Southerners, to whom my image became iconic for the Democratic Party – for then, an intolerable association. Over a period of three decades there was a massive shift of white voters to the Republican Party in order to retard the social progress of black people. The irony is that this shift has resulted in millions of white people voting against their own interest, doing damage to their families, the political system, the country and themselves. The South is a region of the country where even some professional people work second and third jobs trying to make ends meet; and yet, many working-class white people are persuaded to support policies that favor the rich, simply because they are certain that these polices don't help blacks. Whenever they view the Democratic Party, they see that sketch of me and the distortion sends them off in the wrong direction. That is the kind of power they have given me. Admittedly, it's not a direct power I possess of my own accord, rather, a power that results from their folly – but power just the same.

Hold on tight – I am about to offer another equally slippery observation: much of what's done to prevent blacks from striving forward turns out to harm working-class whites also. It appears there is this inner connectiveness between them. When so many whites flocked to the Republican Party to inoculate themselves against my presence, they also shut out remedies to problems that afflict many of them. My power lies in their attempts to lock blacks out of the American dream. For many of them, the solutions that would ease black burdens are the same ones that would bring them comfort. If a white man in the South, with two jobs, a working wife, three children, a double-wide trailer and a hunting dog would vote his reality, he'd favor a reduction in his payroll taxes and not let the politicians manipulate him into thinking he benefits from a reduction in the capital gains tax. He'd seek a raise in the minimum wage and a membership in a labor union to protect his status; but because he is encouraged to associate these issues with my image, he rejects them and imprisons himself on the outside of my cell, thinking he's better off.

No one has accused me of any wrongdoing in the recent wave of corporate scandals. This supports their propaganda that I am a dim-witted creature incapable of the kind of sleight of hand that robs millions of American workers of their future. They know that it would be useless to draw a sketch of me in, say, the Wall Street debacle. No one would believe it. They believe much about me that involve mindless violence, but they would never believe that I am capable of financial theft and deception on such a grand and ruinous level. Such a capability requires a studiousness that begins in a quality grade school, a 3.5 grade average in an Ivy League college, a facilitated acceptance into the corporate world, and the ethics of Attila the Hun who killed his brother Bleda in the year 444 rather than share power with him. All privileges long denied to me.

Much will be said of my improved conditions in this society when the day comes that my sketch appears in connection to grand scale corporate scandals – but that's like turning things inside out – a bad measure, or perhaps, just a badly formulated way of seeing things. My world is measured in the negative. For example, no one suspected me during the Maryland highway sniper horrors that killed many people a few years back. Professional profilers were sure that this was the work of white men as past history show. A sketch of Leroy the Phantom Culprit was not thought to be practical in this case and would only distract from apprehending the whites thought to be the shooters. In this case a hunt for me would only be a distraction that could cause the death toll to mount needlessly. We know who commits these heinous acts and it's not Leroy, the experts were confident. Well, now we all know the results of this kind of thinking.

There, I have shared some of the high points in my recent existence with you, but I want you to know that I am always on the job – operating on autopilot. When the clerk at the department store interrupts waiting on a black customer to make eye contact with the next white person in line to give assurance that she will be served before the current customer is completed, that's "the me" in his head at work. When there's an altercation and the white policemen arrive on the scene and arrest the black victim and not the white perpetrator – I am alive. When the car dealer or realtor adds the hidden black tax to the deal, I toil in shrouded wakefulness. When local governments underfund schools in black areas, they invoke my presence. I'm manifested in various everyday means, and it's these seemingly small symptoms that are my bloodline until the next big case.

Although I've never been publicly exonerated once the truth emerged, there were times when only the truth survived. The young white mother finally admitted to drowning her sons and led the authorities to the gruesome site in the lake where their bodies lie clinging to each other in the backseat of her car submerged in the watery lie she told. Then they forgot about me. The powerful New York politician made another more successful try for death and they called off the search for me. The unfaithful husband in Boston finally ensnared by his lies went back to that bridge and after his flight from it, joined his wife and unborn son in a way that precluded my being hunted down.

Now I look toward my long and eventful future with eagerness and anticipation. I never know when I'll be called upon again in a major way, only that I will indeed be called.

May 17, 2009

(A version of this article was published first in Blogcritics, Politics section)

It's arguable that every successful movement in our long and checkered history was infused with, if not inspired by, an idealistic component. Even freedom or liberation movements looked beyond the immediate gains that would benefit the oppressed masses, to the idea. And the same goes for the Civil Rights activists, or the pacifist movement spurred by Gandhi and adopted by Martin Luther King, Jr., the abolitionists or the suffragettes. It was the idea that fired them all, from Lenin and Castro to Chez Guevara and Daniel Ortega (and yes, even Hitler and Mussolini, because we can't ignore the negative examples since they, too, prove the point) – an idea that was bigger than life, bigger than the immediate circumstances of the moment, however deplorable, and which stood in need of correcting, bigger than the people themselves.

For better or worse, that's the nature of the beast; the pen is indeed mightier than the sword. Ideas rule, and the New Left is an example par excellence. The million-dollar question is: Can it sustain itself?

Don't forget that the New Left and the ensuing ideology – the heightened consciousness which has since spread throughout the globe to become a universal or mass consciousness – was a child of prosperity. A child of the unique conditions in America and the industrialized West, which made it possible for bourgeois offspring to disavow their own self-interest and to embrace instead the interests and the plight of the many who have been left out by the system, to rebel against the very principles which made it possible for them to think progressively and altruistically. Concern for others is a luxury that only a few can possibly afford; and if material conditions deteriorate to the point than every man or woman must fend for themselves in the interest of their own survival, then idealism is indeed a shaky proposition and it stands on no less shaky ground.

It is thus that capitalism, the very (by some estimates) "inhumane" system which has given rise to the most humanistic philosophy ever and made it the exclusive domain of the common man, carries within itself the seeds of its own self-destruction. It's something to think about.

Which brings us back to the million-dollar question: Can we continue in this vein and retain this idealistic strain while the conditions which made idealism possible, a level of general prosperity for a great many, are about to become extinct? What would it do to mass consciousness if the masses themselves will be forced to become more and more concerned with the business of making a living? Isn't there a danger here that once again, the humanity might revert to its primitive self and selfish and unenlightened thinking? Is the progress we've made a fleeting phenomenon, no different than any other accomplishment peculiar to a particular epoch or period of history? Civilization is indeed a very thin veneer; but does that have to mean that all the gains we've made in the past fifty years or so, the idealistic thinking which has fired the imagination and focused on the plight of the disadvantaged and the have-nots, is going to dissipate and become just another episode in our long and sorry history? And for what good reason? Just because our own comfortable existence is likely to disappear, taking with it any inclination to concern ourselves with our brothers and sisters? Because the "take care of the number one" rule, the matter of sheer survival, will invariably take precedence over all other fine feelings we might have towards our fellow men? I'd hate to think we're as limited as all that.

These are relevant questions; and they're not to be taken lightly as the capitalist system of production – the very source which made idealism possible and indirectly, the explosion of mass consciousness as well – far from having spread throughout the rest of the globe, is itself undergoing all kinds of stresses and fissures from within as it fights for its own survival. Our future is very far from certain. It's all up to us, it seems, and the kind of courage we're about to display, whether it's going to be a dog-eat-dog or being-your-brother's-keeper kind of attitude.

I'd like to take a positive view and think that once a state of enlightenment is reached, it's rather difficult to undo. The human spirit shall prevail. It's certainly true of individuals, for when you do acquire a third eye, it becomes a part of you wherever you go, no matter how your circumstances change.

It's somewhat trickier, however, when applied to a collective and when mass consciousness is at stake, for then other factors are at play, again, the notion of "critical mass" being the most important. Indeed, it would appear that if mass consciousness is to sustain itself or at least not to suffer a setback, it must acquire sufficient push and pull to become the prevalent ideology worldwide, which makes it imperative to spread prosperity, and the message, to all corners of the globe in the hope that they'll take root – again, an iffy proposition considering the uncertain future of capitalism.

At the end of my "Hidden Dimensions" series, I suggested that we put our ideological differences aside and work towards the common goal. That goal, as I conceived of it then, was none other than to keep our government on the straight and narrow so as to preserve our freedoms and way of life.

Nothing has changed except that the situation has become even more dire. Indeed, as one of the commentators had suggested of late on the BC thread (see "Chrysler Bankruptcy: Political Payoff?" comment #42, as per link below),

what I see happening is a schism in the Corporate Statist establishment between those seeking to socialize corporations and those seeking to privatize the government. We've breached [too] many walls between corp[orations] and the state. . . . It may be too late to back off and separate state from business.

I find it disconcerting, in fact the greatest challenge facing us today, that present crisis notwithstanding, we're are being confronted with two equally unpalatable alternatives: a move toward socialism or the privatization of government – which is to say, a near total merger of public and private interest and the reinstatement of the dreaded Establishment as the military-industrial complex.

One should hope that these are but remedial measures, designed to deal with the crisis at hand, but there's no telling, as you and I both know. Either way, it's cause for concern. If you have any doubt, read George Will's article, "Upside-Down Economy" (see link).It's the best treatment thus far.

If there is anything that I'd like to impress on both my fellow travelers from the New Left and those from the antagonistic Right, it is this. Let's forgo all our differences because our freedoms are at stake: the freedom to excel in any area whatever or not to excel; the freedom, in other words, to pursue whatever we wish to pursue, without regard to anyone else's definition of what we ought to be.

That's the essence of the American dream – the freedom to do what we damn well please – so long, of course, that we don't impinge on anybody else's freedom to do likewise.

"Live and let live" is America's motto, economic differences be damned. We're all equal. If you have a problem with this concept, I feel sorry for you. In my mind, you just lack in self-esteem.

In conclusion, I'd like to reiterate that it's our freedoms that are worth fighting for and preserving, including our economic freedom. Our political institutions may change. And if the message of universal justice is going to take hold in the world, the likelihood is that we may yet end up relinquishing some of our national identity and way of life and become more subject to the rule of international law.

I could live with that, I suppose, because on my view of things, this would be tantamount to progress. But what I definitely couldn't live with is the eventuality that our political and economic decisions would emanate from one and the same quarter, because that would mean a totalitarian government. And under a totalitarian regime, no matter how benign, there would be neither freedom, nor justice, not even "expanded consciousness" on any scale worth talking about. It would mean reverting to the Dark Ages. That's why Corporate Statism alluded to earlier – whether in the form of socializing the corporation or privatizing the government – must be fought tooth and nail by the Left and the Right alike. Our future is at stake.

Capitalism is very far from perfect, and it does produce economic inequality. But economic inequality doesn't and shouldn't trump a far more basic notion of equality grounded in freedom and universal justice. If the system were to be made subject to sufficient oversight so as to prevent potential abuses and rid itself of the unscrupulous and immoral practitioners, it may yet work to reduce this inequality. Thus, for all the contradictions presumed to be inherent in the idea that would leave most economic decisions in predominantly private hands, capitalism is still the best system we've got to promote the spread of freedom and justice and yes, prosperity, too, throughout the rest of the world (provided of course its self-destructive tendencies are held in check).

Let's just hope we can escape the present crisis unscathed and resume humanity's progress towards a better and more equitable world.

(A version of this article was published first in Blogcritics, Politics section)

Consider the following account of the emergence of the New Left: If the Vietnam experience was the trigger, the liberal guilt was the psychological mechanism, and JFK's youthful and charismatic persona served as an example – the image. What's missing from this account is the one quality which made it unlike any movement before or since. I'm referring to its idealism.

Indeed, because of its idealism, no other movement in the history of the world – no freedom or liberation movement, no single-issue movement, engineered as it may have been by the proponents of universal suffrage or the abolitionists, no peasant rebellion or religious revolt, not even the storming of the Bastille – compares to the little "hippie revolution," the Haight-Ashbury, the free speech and counter-culture movement.

What is the trademark of idealism, you may ask. Well, it embraces all sins – past, present, and future. Nothing is overlooked. It's akin to a God's eye judging us all, the whole of humanity in fact, with an uncompromising and relentless standard. And the New Left, because of its idealism, has adopted that standard whereby everyone is held accountable and everything is subject to scrutiny. To think otherwise is to deny your creed. Such are the wages of idealism.

One can't say enough about the extent to which idealism – with its focus on the concept of justice, the highest of all virtues – defined the New Left and shaped American politics since. For example,

The idealistic Left, with its eye on universal justice, views the Right as parochial and ethnocentric, standing in the way of progress by insisting on the most vulgar in selfishness; the Right, on the other hand, sees the Left as naïve and unpatriotic.

The Left, having the entire world under its watchful eye, insists on America's leadership to spread prosperity, freedom and justice to all parts of the globe; the Right views all such policies as detrimental to America's security and national interest.

The Left is adamant about restoring equality among competing individuals and leveling the playing field, both at home and abroad; the Right insists that all such efforts smack of socialism and it falls on the doctrine of personal responsibility, buttressed by social Darwinism and the survival of the fittest thesis, namely, the idea that individuals get what they deserve.

The Left looks to international law and justice as being a more truthful expression of the new morality and heightened consciousness; the Right dismisses all such efforts as being un-American and striking at the very heart of our Constitution.

The Left sees the Constitution and the attendant Bill of Rights as an open-ended document, nothing more than a blueprint, more binding in spirit than the letter; the Right adheres to the principle of strict-interpretation and tends to view all emendations (whether by way of new laws or amendments) with suspicion, as specious constructs which only erode the authority of a timeless document and undermine the original intent of the founders.

The Left is an ardent proponent of human rights: civil rights, the right of free speech, the right of choice as regards abortion and equal treatment at home and in the workplace, the right of freedom from gender or ethnic discrimination, the right to a level playing field; the Right tends to view some of those rights as dubious entitlements and therefore contrary to the spirit of freedom and free enterprise, as countermanding in fact the very principles which made this country great.

But herein lies the rub. The forces which account for the emergence of the New Left – fired by idealism and propelled by the incessant (obsession is the right word) with universal justice – are the very same forces which brought about the near-phenomenal explosion of popular consciousness (see "Quantum of Solace, Part I"), an explosion on a scale never encountered before. One could say in fact that both phenomena, equally unique and unprecedented in the history of humankind, are not only coincidental, but two sides of the same coin.

To put it more succinctly, perhaps, if the New Left is the medium, then the new and expanded consciousness is the message.

Interestingly, selfsame results obtain from examining the operational definition of the New Left in the introduction to "The Hidden Dimensions" series:

The [New] Left . . . is public opinion mobilized around some polarizing moral issue or issues, and which has attained sufficient critical mass to affect major political decisions in matters of public policy and in any area even remotely connected to the issue at hand.

Little did I know at the time of the writing that when I offered this provisional definition, I would be describing "the new consciousness" as well. And yet, come to think of it, all the elements I attributed to the latter in "Quantum of Solace" are present in the definition of the New Left: public opinion, critical mass, and succinctly moral outlook. It's arguable, in fact, that "public opinion" and its impact in determining public policy (with the possible exception of the brief interlude of the revolutionary France and the formation of the Fourth Estate, prompted as both may have been by the Age of Enlightenment and the writings of the philosophes) are, relatively speaking, modern, 20th century phenomena, made possible by the unprecedented explosion in the area of mass communication and the media. Which would make "public opinion" co-equivalent with "the new consciousness," or at least with the predominant expression thereof. So if the New Left is the organ, the new and enhanced morality is its most natural voice.

What is it about idealism, then, which makes it such a potent and uncompromising force? How does it differ from other, equally worthy motives which ignited the revolutions and revolts in times prior: freedom and liberation movements, slave uprisings and prison breaks, workers' strikes, boycotts and whatnot, and all manner of struggles against specific injustices, such as the right to vote or against the discrimination in the workplace, or the more general ones, such as civil rights? The answer, I suggest, resides in the origins of the movement, in its composition, the rank and file.

Say what you will, but the New Left was the direct result of the middle or upper class upbringing, the spoiled brats, mostly white, who had nothing better to do than to attend liberal arts colleges and waste their time on drugs, free love and what have you, the direct result of the unprecedented prosperity which, once upon a time, was the trademark of the American experience. Not for all, I hasten to add, but for the many. And so, a movement was born.

Vietnam was the first bone of contention, but it was only the beginning. The movement had soon spread to include all points of (moral) disagreement: the military-industrial complex, the Establishment, civil rights, feminism, gay rights, the rights of the physically impaired, the environment, and on and on. Every single advance in the area of human rights in the second half of the 20th century can be traced, if not directly than at least indirectly, to the New Left's involvement. And it doesn't matter now whether the New Left embraced the new causes or whether it simply grew in rank and file as the fight spread to include the hotly-debated issues. The net effect was, the little ol' hippie revolution of the sixties energized everything it touched unlike any other movement before or since; it had infused it with its particular brand of energy, enthusiasm and passion; and in a manner of speaking, it spearheaded every single advance in the area of human rights and every fight against injustice, large or small, and in so doing, it affected the outcome. Which is just another way of saying that the rise of the New Left coincides or is synonymous with the explosion of universal, mass consciousness. The rest is history.

What is, of course, the most salient if not the defining characteristic of idealism, its force majeure, is it's rootedness in, and commitment to, causes outside of oneself. Indeed, I take it as axiomatic that such is the stuff from which all true believers are made of – by far a more potent force and one to be reckoned with than any other concern which is merely self-serving rather than other-directed and which aims at redressing whatever personal grievances or injustices. I'm going here by the simple assumption that it's always easier and more convincing to stand up for somebody else rather than for yourself.

That's the power of the idea, the moral idea, I should preface; and it's been said many times before ("the pen is mightier than the sword" being one example). It's from thence that the force of idealism derives.

Can the movement sustain itself in light of the present crisis? Aren't we in danger of backsliding, which would only validate a cyclical view of history? Can anything be done to keep the fires burning?